


Acts of Kindness

by Garonne



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode: s06e01 The Soul of Genius, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway sits and waits for Lewis, and lets his mind wander.</p>
<p>Coda to the episode 'The Soul of Genius'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acts of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vsee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vsee/gifts).



> This was a birthday fic for vsee. Happy Birthday, Vee!

Hathaway sits in the car, staring at the closed front door. Beyond it, Lewis is breaking the news to Mrs Marber.

_Be kind to her,_ Hathaway had said. _You're good at that._

Lewis is a wellspring of goodheartedness. Sometimes Hathaway feels he could bask in it forever. Sometimes, too, he wonders whether he's hoping that something of that generosity of spirit will rub off on him.

_I would rather feel compassion than know the meaning of it._ Wasn't that Aquinas?

When Hathaway said that aloud once, though, Lewis wasn't having any of it.

"Your problem, lad, is that you feel too much, not too little," he'd said. 

Hathaway's not sure, but he trusts Lewis over himself.

His thoughts return to poor Mrs Marber, forced to accept at last the truth about her son's death. He remembers the moment they discovered she wasn't just an irritating, interfering old bat. He remembers the look on Lewis' face as understanding dawned on him. Hathaway felt for her too, but Lewis was the one to reach out, to give and not to count the cost.

Sometimes Hathaway longs to really _know_ Lewis: to understand his warmth from the inside. Every kiss they share is a little excursion into the recesses of his soul. And sometimes that's not nearly close enough. Sometimes when they lie side by side in bed, he stares at Lewis, wishing he could climb inside Lewis' head. 

Last time he did that, Lewis laughed and asked whether he was counting the grey hairs. Hathaway shook his head. He ran a hand up the soft, worn skin of Lewis' jawline to cup the back of his neck. 

"I just like looking at you, that's all."

Lewis smiled sleepily.

"Can't ask for more than that, can I?"

Hathaway felt Lewis squeeze his other hand, and realised he couldn't remember ever having felt so strongly about anyone or anything before. There was something almost scary about it, but that was drowned out by the wave of euphoria he'd been riding for the past few months.

Now, outside the car, the light is starting to fade. The wind has got up and leaves are raining down onto the windscreen. Hathaway stares out into the twilight and looks forward to winter mornings curled up under the duvet with Lewis, blanketed from the world.

He slouches down in the driver's seat and looks back on months of happiness. He remembers lying in bed on Saturday mornings, squinting at Lewis with blurry uncorrected vision, with the early morning summer sunshine streaming in between the curtains. 

He remembers late nights when they've nothing on at work. Lewis pressed against him under the duvet, their lips together and Lewis' hand stroking him to bliss. Lewis gasping his name, his head thrown back, his hands tight on Hathaway's shoulders. Drifting off to sleep to the sound of Lewis snoring, and waking slowly to find a hand on his back, and a sleeping Lewis snuffling in his ear.

He thinks of quiet pubs out of town on Sunday afternoons, and long Sunday lunches. Real-ale pubs, mostly, where Lewis can pass on lectures on real ales first delivered by Morse.

He remembers sitting in the front room in Manchester with Lyn and her boyfriend, Lewis' hand on his, reminding him that love is never wrong. He trusts Lewis more than himself to know the truth of that.

He's had six months of a bleary-eyed, grumpy, early-morning Lewis, hair sticking up in unexpected places, glowering at Hathaway because he's being chipper even before the coffee machine heats up. Six months of sitting at the table in the kitchen, Lewis with his cereal and Hathaway with his toast, and Lewis reading the Daily Mail despite Hathaway's raised eyebrows and smirk.

He pictures Lewis' long-suffering face when Hathaway shows off once too often in one day. The lines on Lewis' face creasing into a smile when Hathaway appears at the office door. Lewis' forehead shining with sweat and his mouth swollen and bruised from kissing.

Such happiness seems undeserved, but Lewis has taught him he deserves it. Lewis doesn't usually worry about things like guilt, repentance, worthiness, penance.

He remembers the first time his mind accepted what his heart already knew: that this wasn't something that was going to be snatched away, because Lewis was here to stay.

He was at the station, in the corridor by the photocopier, making copies of evidence in triplicate. It was not unpleasant to be doing something so banal after ending up in an ambulance yesterday -- a brush with an over-excited suspect. He was thinking vaguely about what to buy for lunch when Lewis came up beside him. Hathaway made some joke or other -- he doesn't even remember what now -- and Lewis' face softened unexpectedly.

"God, James, do you know how much you mean to me?"

Hathaway was taken aback. When he got his wits back together, he found he was grinning like an idiot, and reaching out automatically for Lewis. He pulled back his hand.

Lewis gave him a rueful grin. 

"Sorry. Shouldn't be staying stuff like that at the station, should I?"

Hathaway took his elbow all the same, and squeezed it gently before letting him go. He went around in a state of bliss for the rest of the day.

Hathaway's thoughts are recalled to the present by Mrs Marber's front door opening. Lewis comes down the path and gets into the car. 

"Okay?" Hathaway says.

Lewis nods.

"I'll drop by again on Monday, see how she's doing."

Because that's what Lewis does. Compassion translates easily to action for him. He doesn't stand suffering and helpless like Hathaway. He's good at the most difficult and most important part of their job.

Hathaway feels affection brimming up inside him. _The things that we love tell us what we are._

You make me a better person, he thinks. He won't ever tell Lewis that, though. Far too mawkish.

He puts the car into gear.

"Think I'll give her a ring tomorrow evening," Lewis adds. "Before we go to this folk music thing of yours."

"You haven't forgotten then?" Hathaway says, touched.

"Course not." He settles back in the car seat. "Already bought my earplugs and everything."

Hathaway almost falls for it. He catches himself just in time.

"Very wise of you, sir," he says solemnly.

Lewis gives him a gentle punch in the arm, and they drive home.

.. .. ..

**Author's Note:**

> SS. Thomas Aquinas and Ignatius of Loyola (unwittingly!) contributed some of the lines in this story.


End file.
